Even in the Darkness
by rockbandstar
Summary: Hope, love, and a small stack of journals are Rachel's only insights and guides into the life she once lived. With every memory lost how do you go back to your life not recognizing the ones who loved you or even the person you once were? Future Fic - PB
1. Prologue

_**Even in the darkness**_

_**Just remember - when you think all is lost, the future remains. - Robert H. Goddard**_

I set my small black journal down on the counter, my eyes filling with tears as I look at the words inscribed on the page. There's a whole life full of cherished moments, memories and loves I'll never remember. My fingers run over the words gently and I find myself desperately hoping; for some flash of my past, that the words will absorb through the tips of my fingers, that there won't be this huge void in my thoughts.

No matter how much I hope, though, the void remains.

There's a pressure building behind my eyelids, a kind of throbbing pain that shoots through my skull and down my neck. I let my hand rest against the tender flesh and knead my fingers over it. I can hear the movement in the other room, the sound of the dishwasher starting and of plates being scrapped and I _want_ to belong. Apparently, I _used_ to.

Now all I see are unfamiliar faces.

I let the journal flop closed and take a deep breath, the pen slipping from my fingers to rest alongside it on the desk; the black a stark contrast to the cherry wood beneath it. I take a deep breath, letting the air settle in my lungs before expelling it out forcefully and then I begin.

_One- _My name is Rachel Berry and I am twenty five years old.

_Two- _I have a wonderful husband who is patient, kind, and loves me with all of his heart. He's also my best friend.

I think of the man who arrived at the hospital, eyes rimmed in red and heavy with fatigue. He was exhausted, on emotional overload, and filled with so much hope. He had sat by my bedside, his fingers playing with his wedding ring for a moment before he reached across the bed his hand tangling with mine.

"Hi," he had whispered, "I'm your husband."

The tears had trickled out of his eyes and down his cheeks and I remember feeling so relieved that someone knew me, that someone had been searching. His fingers were warm against mine, the heat searing through my skin. My head still throbbed and my body ached, but for the first time I realized that maybe everything would be alright in the end.

_Three- _We live in a nicely sized studio apartment on the outskirts of New York City.

_Four-_ I love to sing and dance. Growing up I dreamed of staring in shows on Broadway and of winning Tony awards.

_Five- _I have friends who would do anything in the world for me and who love me no matter what.

I pause for a moment, listening to the gentle hum of conversation in the other room and feel the teardrops slither down my cheeks and pool against my neck. Any moment one of them could come looking for me, concern clouding their features, and as much as I adore that they care there are some things I need to conquer on my own. Like the fact that my memory may never return.

_Six-_ I have two fathers, Hiram and Elijah. Both are great men who love each other and I was created out of this love.

_Seven- _According to my husband I'm stubborn, hard headed, and a bit of a drama queen but I wear my heart on my sleeve and forgive easily.

_Eight-_ The only way back is forward.

The knock on the door startles me from my thoughts and I look up unsurprised to find my husband watching me. His eyes are still tired, his brow furrowed, and his five o'clock shadow is prominent on his face. His eyes focus on the journal in front of me and he nods in understanding, his hand reaching up to rub through his short hair, a sigh escaping past his lips.

"This one is all about you," I whisper, my fingers tapping along the cover nervously, "about the start of our relationship." I watch him swallow deeply, his adams apple bobbing with the movement, and I wipe away the tear streaks lining my cheeks.

"Anything?" he questions and my heart breaks a little at the hope I can hear in his voice. I can't say the word, so I shake my head no and push my chair back. There's a small bottle of pills setting on the edge of the desk for anxiety and my gaze lands on them for just a moment. I haven't had to take any today; _yet._

"In the last journal you were kind of an ass," I mumble, my hands shoving my hair off of my face. He smiles and chuckles and I can't help smiling in response. "I was surprised at the sudden change in this one."

He moves further into the room, his shoulders shrugging as he pushes the door closed behind him. "I had a life or death experience and made a promise to God that I would be nicer to people." I can smell his cologne; it's musky and earthy and I breathe it in letting my eyes closed for just a moment. "Unfortunately I had to reevaluate and ended up adjusting the promise a bit so that I only had to be nicer to Jews." A small burst of laughter bubbles from my lips and I feel the tightness in my head and neck easing up slightly. "I've missed your laugh."

"It's kind of loud and obnoxious," I mumble, "hardly ladylike."

He gets this huge grin on his face and kind of bobs his head in understanding. "But it's yours and it's you." He whispers. We're both silent for a moment, the air tense around us. He rubs his hand along the back of his neck briefly before he drops it back to his side. "Our living room is full of people," he murmurs, "I was hoping I could convince you to join us. They're worried about you."

My head throbs and back tightens and my eyes flick to the bottle of pills automatically. "Alright," I reply softly, "I can try again." My hand reaches out automatically for his, our fingers wrapping together. It surprises _both_ of us. "Um," I murmur, my face flushing in embarrassment.

"Don't worry about it," he replies, his fingers squeeze mine for just a moment before he lets my hand go. "There are going to be questions," he warns. I nod my head in understanding, the story formulating in my head.

"I'll answer them the best I can," I reply as I force myself to swallow my fear.

It's not an easy thing, telling my story or at least what I know of it. There's no way to sugarcoat what happened to me, no way to quell the disbelief. The fact of the matter is, my life started the day I woke up in the emergency room. I can remember the numbing whiteness of the walls, the voices talking all around me. My body was sore, my head spinning, and I tasted blood.

An elderly nurse stood next to my head, gently brushing her fingers along my shoulder. Her dark grey hair was pulled back in a bun, her glasses low on her nose. I remember thinking how sad and kind her eyes looked as she leaned down over my face.

"Rachel?" she questioned softly. "Can you talk dear?"

I remember trying to clear my throat, trying to get rid of the metallic taste in my mouth. "I think so," I whispered, not a bit surprised at the raspy quality.

"My name is Janet," I felt her fingers gently brush across the skin. "Do you have any family?" I could feel the weight of my wedding ring on my finger and found myself nodding my head.

"A husband," I whispered feeling the strain on my throat.

She holds her pen poised above the clipboard in her hands. "What's the number we can call him at?"

I wrack my brain, trying to remember the phone number and then look up at the nurse with tears in my eyes. "I don't know." I whisper.

She holds up a New York driver's license in front of me. "This is your driver's license; we found it in your pocket. I'm not sure how to tell you this, Rachel." She clears her throat her eyes looking worriedly over my face. "We found you on the side of a county road just off the interstate. This," she motions to the hospital around us, "isn't New York. In fact, you're quite a bit of a ways away from New York."

I'm not sure if she can see the confusion on my face or if she just understands how much this all is to take in. "Where are we then?" I question, my voice is shaky and I sound like a scared child.

"Right now Rachel, you are in Texas."

* * *

><p><strong>This story idea is a bit different and will have some jumping around through time (to kind of establish relationships and such). I'm really excited with the concept and I hope you guys are too! The M rating will be for future chapters.<strong>

**I would love to hear what you think so far!**

**N **


	2. Chapter 1

"_**Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." – Dr. Seuss**_

The hall is lined with pictures and every time I pass them my eyes linger on the images with a sort of rabid fascination. It's the images of a life that I have lived and don't remember; significant events that have shaped who I supposedly am today. I stop for just a moment, taking a longer look at a group picture. We're all so young and carefree; full of happiness, friendship, and hope for the future.

Noah pauses beside me, his eyes scanning the photo with a tinge of sadness. There's a larger photo next to the group picture; he and I with our arms slung around each other. He looks at it for just a moment before he clenches his eyes shut, face filled with a mixture of longing and resignation. When he finally opens his eyes again, his face is void of emotion. "They're waiting," he reminds me gently.

I think about the small bottle of pills I left on the desk in the other room and contemplate going back to take one. As hard as I've tried not to rely on them and as much as I know that I could probably get through this without them the urge is still there; I can feel my heart pounding away in my chest. I take a few deep breaths, steadying myself, and then I walk through the doorway.

A few people are sitting on the couch, a few more on the carpeted floor, and a few at our dining room table. There's a gentle hum of conversation and I pause for a moment to just stand and watch. Noah moves to stand beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine, and he watches me as I look around the room. It's all so overwhelming, but knowing I have him there beside me helps in some way.

"It's a lot to take in," he whispers, "but I'm here." A few people turn at the sound of his voice, their eyes flipping from him to me and then back again. They've left the loveseat open and the two of us sink into the plush material, neither of us speaking. I set my hands in my lap, my fingers twisting nervously. I feel so out of place, foreign to the group, and I watch them interact silently.

Someone hands me a glass of ice water and I look up into a set of kind brown eyes and can't help but smile. "Thank you," I murmur, my hands shaking. The man nods at me, smiles warmly, and then runs his hand through his hair uncertainly. His mouth is slanted and he bites on his lip for a moment, eyes meeting mine.

"You don't remember me do you?" I hear Noah scoff beside me and I watch the man's face flush for just a moment, before he steels his shoulders and plops down on the floor by my feet. The others are watching us with a mixture of curiosity and something else I can't quite place. "I mean I know you wouldn't remember me," the man mumbles, "but I just thought…" he trails off for a moment, shoulders shrugging. "I'm Finn," he lifts one of his hands and arks it in a small wave that I can't help but smile at.

"Finn," I murmur, nodding my head as I try and think back to the journals in the other room. I'm pretty sure his name was mentioned at some point, but the significance of it is lost on me. "I'm Rachel and it's a pleasure to meet you." He gets this confused look on his face, his nose crunching slightly, and then he smiles and nods in response. I lift the glass of water to my lips, taking a long drink as I steady my thoughts, because I can see the questions building behind all of their eyes. Finn pushes himself up off the floor and makes his way back over to his spot on the couch next to a pretty blonde. She's the second to approach me.

The girl is unique, quirky, and my eyes focus on the set of neon pink leg warmers on her arms before they settle on the small yellow bag covered in butterflies that she's holding out in front of her. "Lord Tubbington and I decided to pick these up for you because I know how much you used to love them and we thought it would be great to get you a new set." She steps back and then rocks on her heels in anticipation and I can't help but glance out of the side of my eyes at Noah. He looks amused. I reach into the bag and tug out the set of tie-dyed leg warmers, my brow furrowing in confusion. "Lord Tubbington picked out the colors," she states proudly.

"Umm," I reply softly, "Thank you I think." She smiles and nods, her hands clapping together a few times. I wait until she's taken her seat on the couch again before turning to Noah, confusion clouding my thoughts. Noah sits with a large smile on his face, his head shaking back and forth in what is clearly a mixture of amazement and hilarity. It takes him a few moments to respond to my questioning look, but then he answers my unspoken question.

"That was Brittany," he whispers, "and her cat's name is Lord Tubbington. As for the leg warmers," his eyebrows quirk up for a second, "you were a fan of them in high school." He gets this wicked little grin on his face and I stick them back into the bag and set it on the floor by my feet, choosing not to respond. The Spanish woman sitting next to Brittany on the couch shoots Noah a nasty look, her eyes rolling.

"I'm Santana," she snips testily in my direction. I'm a bit taken back by the brusqueness of the whole thing and I look at her in surprise, watching her examine her nails carefully. After a minute she sighs, sets her hands down and looks at the two of us. "This whole thing is fucked up and I don't know what you're expecting her to get out of it." I'm pretty sure the comment is directed at Noah and I turn my head slightly seeing the line of his jaw tense. "It's not like she's magically going to get her memory back and the two of you are going to skip off into the sunset, just saying!"

I'm so shocked that I almost miss the admonishing way everyone is saying her name. Noah's fists are clenching beside me and my head is spinning as I get up from the couch and grab my water glass off of the table. I can feel the smile forcing its way onto my face, it's awkward and tense. I should have taken one of my pills, I realize quickly. This is just too much for me to handle on my own. "Excuse me," I murmur, "I just need to grab something out of the office."

I let the door click closed behind me, my fingers shaking as I grasp the plastic bottle. I pull a pill out and let it rest for a moment in my palm, feeling the weight of it. It's never an easy thing, knowing how much I could come to rely on these pills. I listen to the swell of voices and feel the beat of my heart in my chest. Maybe, I think, if she hadn't spoken my worst fears out loud. I throw the pill back, taking a large gulp of water to wash it down. And then I wait.

It doesn't take long for the pressure in my chest to ease and for my heart to settle down. I let out a sigh of relief and my fingers relax the tight grip I had maintained on the bottle. There are a whole stack of journals sitting on the edge of the desk just waiting to be read and I feel the deep ache of yearning to read more. Instead I set the bottle down and rise from my chair, my hands running along the lines in my skirt to smooth them. And then I reopen the office door.

The living room is quiet, almost eerily so, and everyone's face is tense; it puts me on edge. I shuffle over to the loveseat, settling next to Noah, my hand reaches for his and I realize how much I need someone to support me right now. "I'm sorry about that," I reply softly, "I just…" For a moment I'm startled at how ready and willing I am to share and I find myself regrouping before continuing. "I just needed a moment to regroup." My mouth feels dry and I'm wishing I had remembered to grab my glass of water when another one is handed to me. I take a large gulp, my eyes watching the condensation drip down the side.

"So," Finn questions, "What were you doing in Texas?" He has one of the throw pillows resting in his lap and his fingers twist and tug at a small bit of loose material. I watch the movement of his fingers as I try and come up with some answer, but the truth is that I'm not really sure. I take another drink and then shrug my shoulders.

"I don't remember," I clarify when I see that he's still waiting for an answer. I close my eyes for a moment and try as hard as I can to picture something. I get a flash of a blue car, but it passes as quickly as it came and I find myself dismissing it at once. "The first memory I have is of the hospital." I think of the bustle of people around me, the steady beep of my heart monitor, and the gentle voice of my nurse as she ran her fingers through my tangled hair.

"I was terrified," I whisper, "it was like everything in my brain was all scrambled and there was this disconnect like I couldn't understand what was happening to me." I try to remember the trauma room they put me in, the smell of antiseptic in the air, the taste of blood in my mouth, and the numbing pain that was shooting through my body. When I do, I push the images away. I take a large gulp of water and then another, my eyes clenched tightly shut. "I don't want to even begin to think about what would have happened if I hadn't have had my driver's license in my pocket." I feel Noah's fingers squeeze mine and let a deep sigh escape past my lips. "I'm trying to remember, though."

"Rachel has been reading some of her old journals as a way to try and trigger her lost memories," one of my Dads tells the group, his voice laden with hope. "The doctor's said that any little thing could help so between Noah and us we've been pulling out all the stops." I look down at the glass in my hand, my eyes focusing on the large gold star glued to the surface. It seems childlike and strange, but I run my finger over and over it. Having something to fixate on makes it easy to zone out on the conversation around me and it isn't until Noah rests his hand on my shoulder that I realize people were still talking.

"Gold stars are a metaphor," I mumble, confused at the words leaving my lips.

"What are they a metaphor for, Rachel?" Noah prods softly beside me. My finger runs along one of the sharp points as I struggle to find the words I need. Before I can even find the words, though, it's gone.

"I don't know," I whisper and my shoulders sag with defeat. "I don't even know where that came from." There's this picture in my head of a sheet of gold star stickers resting on a desk. The light glints off of one of them and for a moment I can see it shine. When I look at Noah, his eyes are on the glass in my hands and his face is filled with a mixture of emotions.

"That glass was a gift from your Mother," he mutters, once some of the attention is diverted away from us. "She gave it to you right before she…" he pauses, sighs and then shakes his head. "It was given to you right before she left you." It seems like there is more to the story but before he can continue, another of our friends approached me.

"It took me years to break some of your bad habits and fifteen seconds for Britt to reaffirm them," the man moans. "Please for both of our sakes," he makes a flourish with his arms for added dramatic effect, "don't wear the leg warmers." He pauses, eyebrows raised in exclamation as if to emphasize the statement. "We wouldn't want you to take a step backwards, now would we?"

"I think they're kind of cute, though." His eyes zoom down to the small bag and I reach down and grab it, shoving it between Noah and me as if daring the man to try and take them. "They'd be really handy in the winter, I think." He opens his mouth to respond, but thinks better of it when he glances over at Noah.

"I'm Kurt by the way," the man holds a hand out daintily and I look at it for a moment confused, "Kurt Hummel. Also known as your best friend."

* * *

><p><strong>I know this took forever for me to get out and I appologize. Between traveling, a new computer system at work (that keeps crashing), and working overtime to fix said system it feels like I haven't had a second to breathe. Updates will be coming sooner now, though, and I'm planning on once a week to start and going from there. <strong>

**Your response to the prologue was spectacular. Thanks to all of you who've taken the time to let me know what you think. You guys make me want to write and I love you for it.**

**N**


	3. Chapter 2

_**This is the journal of Rachel Berry and as such is PRIVATE!**_

_August 24, 2011 _

_I can't sleep, diary, and I think it's because in a way everything changed tonight. Every time I close my eyes I can see the way Noah looked at me, hear the words that he whispered, and as hard as I try I can't forget. The sky was a dark purple when we pulled up to my house and he hopped out of his car, shuffling around to open my door silently. Our car ride had been just as quiet and I wasn't sure what was going on. It put me on edge. We stood for a moment along the grass lined street, avoiding each other's gaze and the chill that was building up around us. And then he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to look at me. _

_There was sadness in his eyes as he let out a soft sigh and told me exactly what had been bothering him all night. He told me that he couldn't be my friend anymore. The words cut through me like a knife and I stood still for a moment, letting the pain burn through my heart as the tears tumbled down my cheeks. And then he kissed me._

_It was soft, hesitant, and he pulled back after just a minute his eyes watching my every reaction warily. I felt the walls I had slowly built up around my heart start to crumble and as much as it scared me, it also made me __**want**__ so badly. I wanted to kiss him back, diary. To pull him to me tightly and never let him go. I could still feel the sparks of his kiss shooting through my body and I remember lifting my hand up to my lips in surprise. His brow was furrowed, his face a mask of worry._

_So I kissed him back._

_It was needier, almost desperate, and as his tongue ran along my lip I felt myself losing control. My fingers tangled in the small tuft of hair at his neck and I felt his hold on me tighten. I tugged on his lip with my teeth relishing the way my name fell from his lips and then he pulled back. Both of us were gasping for air and if I'm completely honest my legs felt a little rubbery. He brushed the tip of his thumb against my cheek, smiled, and then he was gone._

_If I'm completely honest, I'm kind of terrified. It's only been a few months since everything with Finn went sour (again) and as strong as I've tried to be, the whole situation still hurts. This past year I've seen Noah grow, though, and I know that there is potential there for a great relationship. There's also the possibility that I could get hurt. The situation just keeps playing out in my mind with a hundred different endings and it's driving me mad. I'm not sure what to do._

_August 26, 2011_

"_Well you and I, it's something different and I'm enjoying it cautiously. I'm battle scarred, I am working oh so hard to get back to who I used to be." – Near to You (A Fine Frenzy)_

_August 29, 2011_

_It's hard having such big dreams, such big hopes, in a town like this. There are so many people who've lost hope or just don't know how to dream that it's sad in a way. I spent most of last night just sitting out on the back porch looking up at the stars in the sky. They inspire me to dream bigger, diary, and not only for myself. I'm not sure how anyone can look up into the dark night sky and not be inspired._

_Today was the first day of my senior year and it was predictable as ever. None of the teachers were prepared (all of first period was spent creating a seating chart; a seating chart, diary!) and most of the day was just a complete waste of my time. The one bright note of the entire day was that I did NOT get slushied. Maybe this year will be different, better. One can only hope, right._

_My dance instructor asked if I would be willing to help out with a few of her younger groups and I was so flattered I couldn't tell her no. My technique has improved so much over the past few years and I'm kind of honored that she noticed how hard I've been working. I'm not sure how it's all going to fit into my schedule, but I'll make it work. Maybe if I move my vocal lessons to the weekend?_

_The first official Glee Club meeting is on Wednesday and I'm looking forward to getting back to work. My heart still aches over our loss at Nationals last year and I can't help but feel the weight of it all on my shoulders. I can't help but wonder if Finn and I hadn't kissed if we would have gotten a spot in the top ten? I'll just have to work extra hard this year to make sure that nothing gets in the way. It's only a matter of time until someone sees how wonderful we are!_

_I know what you're thinking, diary, and I'm not avoiding the topic I'm stewing on it. I'll write more once my mind is made up, which hopefully will be soon; after all Noah's patience only lasts so long._

_September 1, 2011_

"_Here we are outside a novel waiting for an end. But we don't know the authors or the book. Maybe, someone's writing chapters for us, while we sleep a million miles away." - Hang on (Guster)_

_September 3, 2011_

_I've become such an expert at building barriers that sometimes I forget they're even there. Noah and I hung out together tonight for the first time since we kissed. After Glee Club we drove around in his truck for awhile and just talked. For the first time, in quite awhile, I realized how much I was holding back, how much I wasn't saying and it scared me diary. How can I truly be with someone if I can't even let them in?_

_I've learned a lot about putting on a good face for others, pretending everything is alright, and about being alone. It's only recently that I've realized that my dreams don't have to exclude my relationships. Finn and I ended because of my dreams but that doesn't mean the same would happen with Noah, does it diary? The more time I spend with him, the more I learn about him, the more I want to know. He's moved something inside of me, diary, and I think it's only a matter of time until the barriers crumble. I can't help but wonder what he will think of me then._

_I think a few of the Glee members are starting to notice something going on between the two of us, ( I'm pretty sure that Blaine and Kurt are plotting something), which means it's only a matter of time until Finn finds out or realizes. I'm worried he's not going to take the news well and I refuse to be the cause of another fight between Finn and Noah. I'm finding I may not have a say in the matter, however._

_Between all of my extracurricular activities and helping out my dance instructor I feel like I haven't had a second to breathe. I'm starting to wonder if it was such a good idea to try and take on so much. Dad and Daddy have been complaining/ worrying about how often I'm running and it makes me feel guilty. I can't give up Glee Club but something is going to have to give. It's getting late and I'm exhausted from a long day. I'll write more soon._

_September 5, 2011_

"_That autumn leaves fall dry and sweet tells me that everything is not broken. No everything is not broken if everything's not fine… And I will find colors in my life." Everything is Not Broken (John Mayer)_

_September 12, 2011_

_I've been so stressed out lately and it's been keeping me up at night. Noah convinced me to play hooky from all of my lessons and we spent the afternoon sitting down by the spillway watching the water and talking. We ended up just sitting for hours conversing about our families, music, friends, and school. It's the first time in days that I've been able to relax and just feel like myself; something I've needed greatly. _

_There was this moment, just as the sun was starting to set, that Noah reached over and brushed my hair away from my face. My heart skipped a beat and I'm sure that my face turned beat red but I couldn't help but smile at him. He smiled back at me softly, diary, and then said that he had to get headed home to babysit his sister. The drive back to my house was silent, but it didn't bother me. The whole afternoon was exactly what I needed._

_Kurt and Blaine's attention was diverted from me this week as we all found out that Mercedes and Sam have been secretly seeing each other for months. Kurt had quite the fit when he found out, diary, and I'm hoping it will hold him over for awhile. Maybe if he's preoccupied with them then he won't see whatever is happening with Noah and me. A girl can hope, right? In the mean time Dad and Daddy's anniversary is coming up and I'm still struggling with trying to find them the perfect gift. I'd ask Kurt but right now I think its better that his attention lays elsewhere._

_While it may come as a surprise, diary, I am delighted to say that I haven't been slushied in almost a week. I've kept a spare set of clothes in my backpack, just in case, but I was able to wear one of my favorite shirts and not have to worry about it getting stained red! Tina swears that Noah has something to do with it and she's enlisted Mikes "Ninja skills" to test her theory out. Personally, I think that Tina and Mike both have a bit too much free time on their hands. Maybe Mike would like to take over some of my dance sessions and then I would have enough free time to plot out a few crazy ideas? Something to think about!_

_There's a small stack of homework calling to me, diary, and I can't put it off any longer. _

* * *

><p><strong>And we're off... I'm going to be putting a chapter of diary entries in every so often (I'm thinking maybe every third chapter but we'll see) to help us get a look back on everything that's happened because in a way it's as important as the present in this story. Thanks to those of you who are taking the time to review and let me know what you think. It really helps motivate me. I'm a bit behind on review replies but you will be getting a response soon!<strong>

**Until next time,**

**N**


	4. Chapter 3

"_**Never make your home in a place. Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You'll find what you need to furnish it – memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey." – Tad Williams**_

A quiet stillness settles once everyone has left for the night and I feel such a huge rush of relief flood through me that it's hard to describe. I let my body relax into the plush of the couch and curl my feet up underneath me, my eyes closing gently. My mind wanders as I try and catalogue everything I have learned about myself and the people around me. It's a lot to take in.

Noah shifts on the couch beside me before pushing himself up and moving out of the room. I open my eyes and watch him walk away trying to imagine what he's going through. As much as I try though, I can't. I'm beginning to get this picture in my mind of what we were like and the way our relationship worked and my heart aches for him and the loss he must be feeling. It's strange knowing that I'm both the cause and solution to his pain. If only I could remember.

I'm still awake enough that I make my way back into the office, closing the door gently behind me. A journal still sits in the middle of the desk, my place saved by the black pen I shoved inside of it. My glass of water rests on the edge of the wood next to my bottle of pills. It's a familiar sight to me now, one that eases the tension growing in my neck and back. I grab the journal and bypass sitting in the office chair, instead lounging in a small reading chair in the corner. It's comfier, I'm able to curl up a bit more, and in no time I find myself lost in the past.

##

I wake the next morning to find Noah tiptoeing around the kitchen, soft classical music playing in the background. He smiles softly when he sees me and sets down a cup of coffee on the bar in front of me before attending to the griddle by the stove. The smell of pancakes and syrup fill the room and I watch him flip and twirl the pancakes with his spatula almost amazed by his dexterity.

He glances at me for just a moment as he sets a plate of food down next to my cup before gesturing to the bar stools shoved under the counter. "So yesterday was overwhelming," he murmurs as he plops down on his own stool with a sigh. "I was kind of afraid it was too much for you to take in." I think of all the new faces and names and shrug offhandedly not really sure how to respond. He takes a bite, his head nodding softly, and I can sense his hesitance. "Listen about Santana," he mumbles, "she's a bitch and you really shouldn't take anything she says to heart."

My mind instantly shifts as I think about the casual way she spoke of my worst fears and I pick up my cup of coffee as I try to formulate a response. "It was just a hard thing to hear someone else say," I reply softly, "especially about something so personal." I take a small bite of my food before continuing. "What if she's right?" I question softly, "What if I don't get my memory back?" Speaking the words out loud make me feel vulnerable and instead of looking at him to see his response I look out the small window over the kitchen sink.

"If," he murmurs, "_if_ you don't get your memories back, it won't be because Santana thinks this is all just a waste of our time." He pauses and I listen to the clank of his fork and the sound of him clearing his throat. "Memories or no memories you are still my Rachel and I'm not going to give up on you or leave you just because you can't remember the first time we met." He gets this small smile on his face and then continues. "It'd probably be better if you didn't remember the first time we met, actually."

A small laugh bubbles past my lips and I shake my head, finally meeting his eyes. "Thank you," I whisper, "I know that this can't be easy for you and you've been so supportive." My voice cracks and I pause for just a second to clear my throat. "Just thank you."

It's too nice of a day to spend inside reading journals, so after Noah and I have both cleaned up we make the eight block trek to a small area of wooded trails. There's a large map at the entrance showing the different routes, I glance at it for just a moment before passing it completely. We have no set destination in mind and I'm not really in any hurry. The trails are buzzing with people walking and bikes whizzing past but there is almost a kind of peacefulness in feeling like you're away from it all. For awhile I let myself forget everything I'm missing, for awhile we're just Rachel and Noah.

##

On Monday Noah heads back to work and I'm left alone in our apartment for the first time. Not having to worry about someone looking over my shoulder, I take the time to really explore the place. I start in the living room, my eyes roaming the accumulation of our combined lives. It looks homey, well lived, and I stop for a minute to peruse the titles of magazines and books shoved in a small basket next to the couch before moving on. Next to the fireplace is an acoustic guitar and I pick it up, my fingers plucking at the keys, as I look at the pictures lining the mantle studying each one.

The first and the largest is a picture of the two of us on our wedding day. My dress is classic, white, and trimmed in an antique looking lace; Noah's suit a classic black tux with a black tie. My head is thrown back in laughter, hand resting against my stomach and Noah's face is covered with a thick smearing of cake and frosting but his smile is shining through. I let my fingers rest against the glass for a moment trying to touch the memories I long for. When nothing comes to me, I move on.

The second picture I look at is smaller, just a snapshot taken from a camera late at night. I'm sitting on a plastic lawn chair my Dad on one side and my Daddy on the other. My arms are wrapped around both of their necks and we're all looking at something off in the distance. It's a grainy photo and I pick it up looking for any clues as to what we were doing. I can't find anything though, so I put it back down and move to the next picture.

It's a group shot, the Glee gang I'm assuming, and we're all huddled together in front of a hotel. You can sense a nervous tension in our pose and in the tightness of our smiles and I wonder, momentarily, if this was taken before a competition of some kind. I search Noah and myself out in the photo, unsurprised to find the two of us standing next to each other. I am surprised, though, that another boy, Finn I believe, stands to my right, arm wrapped around my shoulder while Noah's arm is wrapped around Santana. I catalogue this fact into my mind and promise myself to ask about it later. Next to it is a small picture of Noah, his sister Abby sitting in his lap, and his Mom standing behind the two of them with her arms wrapped around Noah's neck. It's cheesy, posed, and for some reason I absolutely adore it.

The final image is in a thick wood frame, the edges rough and rustic. It's a picture of Noah and me sitting on a beach looking out over the water. We've both got hooded sweatshirts on, the hoods up over our hair, my head rests on Noah's shoulder and his hand was wrapped with mine in my lap. I can tell just by looking at it that it was taken at sunset on a cold and windy day. The colors are beautiful and I find myself wondering where we were and when it was taken. I wonder if I will ever remember.

I set the guitar back on its stand and move into our bedroom, which for the time being is just my bedroom. The walls are painted a warm brown and it contrasts nicely with the thick cream comforter folded at the edge of the bed. I let my hand run over the material as my eyes take in the two separate nightstands. Noah's is made of a dark wood, almost black, and the top is cluttered with items just thrown on top. Mine is a bit lighter, and most of the top is taken up by a tall reading lamp and a small stack of books. There is a shelf underneath the table top, though, and on it sets a small black box that I hadn't noticed before. I pick it up and make my way to the bed, setting down and holding it in my lap.

As I dig through it, I find its contents are varied. There are a few Playbills from some of the shows I've been in, some signed by the whole cast. A few dry pressed flowers, each a different type, and each with a small sticker with a date attached. A photo strip of Noah and me, taken in a photo booth somewhere, which had a 7-11 slushy straw wrapper that had yellowed with age stuck to the back of it. There is also a small plastic film canister and when I open it, I find it filled with powder thin sand. I snap the lid back on and reach in pulling out the last few items; a small black rock, a ticket to a Yankees game a few years prior, hand written sheet music, a napkin with a small doodle drawing on it, a swatch of pink sequined material, and an acceptance letter to Julliard.

The items fan out around me on the bed and I look them over carefully, trying to gleam some personal significance from them. The Playbills and the acceptance letter I understand, so I lay them gently in the bottom of the box as I look over the rest in confusion. When I realize that I'm not going to learn anything by staring I place the items back into the box and let out a small sigh. There's more for me to explore and I'd like to read some more of my journals before Noah gets home from work. Frustrated, and a bit upset, I shove the box back on the shelf and force myself to forget about it for the time being.

Our guest bedroom, currently Noah's room, is the last room I decide to explore for the day. The walls are a dark grey and the bedspread black with grey flowers stitched onto it. It's not nearly as neat as the room I'm staying in; the bed is unmade, there is a stack of dirty close next to a fairly empty closet, the nightstand is cluttered with change and wrappers, and the floor next to the bed is lined with sheets of crumpled papers. I resist the urge to tidy up and instead set on the edge of the bed looking around. It's more formal and less homey, I decide after running my hand along the stiff material of the bedspread. For some reason, the thought makes me sad.

##

By the time Noah makes it home from work I've almost finished another journal. He knocks on the office door before entering and I shove a pen in between the pages to keep my place before acknowledging him. He looks worn out, tired, and rubs his hand along the scruff of his cheek for a moment before speaking. "I'm beat tonight so I think I'm going to just head to bed," his voice is soft, laced with fatigue, and I feel bad that he worked so hard while I sat home and snooped around the house.

"You haven't even eaten dinner," I murmur, pushing myself out of the office chair. "You need to eat and then you can go to bed. Why don't you rest on the couch and I'll cook us both something." He follows me silently, his body dropping onto one of the barstools with a loud plop. I'm not sure what he likes or even if there's something he can't eat and I can feel the frustration bubbling up inside of me.

"Anything's fine Rach," he mumbles after watching me for a moment, "the only thing I'm allergic to is mushrooms and you stopped buying them when we started living together years ago. Other than that I'll eat just about anything." He lets his head rest against his hand as I dig through the fridge and pull out the ingredients for Quesadillas. I put the pan on the stove and pour a little oil in it, neither of us saying a word.

"You can tell me about it," I whisper, feeling my face flush red. "About your day," I continue, stumbling over the words, "Only if you want to of course." I peek over to see him sitting up on the stool, surprise and something else lining his features. At first he doesn't say anything and just when I'm getting ready to change the subject, he speaks.

"It wasn't so much a bad day," he answers, "I just didn't sleep all that well last night." I set one of the tortilla shells in the oil and turn to look at him, watching as he runs his hand along the back of his neck. He lets out a loud yawn and rolls his shoulders before continuing. "I was up late working on some music and once I started I couldn't put it down. It's my own fault, because I knew I was heading back in today."

"That explains all the balls of paper," I mutter as I drop some cheese into the pan and start cutting up a tomato. Once I realize exactly what I've said, I turn to look at him with a sheepish smile on my face. "Not that I was snooping or anything." I continue, "I spent the morning walking around this place just kind of looking at everything and taking it all in." I drop the tomatoes into the pan and listen to the sound of the grease sizzling and crackling as I think everything over. "I've actually got some questions about a few of the things I noticed," I continue, "but I won't bug you with them tonight."

"Whenever you're ready to ask them," He shrugs his shoulders, "I'll be here to answer them." I use the spatula to flip the shell over and then slide it onto a plate and set it in front of him. "Thanks," he garbles due to his mouth full of food, "for taking care of me." He shoots me a wink and I shake my head as my cheeks flush. I set another tortilla in the pan and start to make my own dinner.

###

**I know it took me awhile to get this up and I appologize. Real Life got pretty hectic there for awhile and something had to get dropped. I promise it won't be as long of a wait next time for an update. When I was going over the chapter and editing before posting I noticed that there is a small throwback in this chapter that relates to one of my Puckleberry one-shots posted on this site. I'm curious to see if any of you guys catch it, so the first person to figure it out and drop me a line by PM or review gets the next chapter dedicated to them!**


End file.
